


They fill with fire (exhale desire)

by Pepperish



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Road Trip, Blake Sibilings, F/F, F/M, Featuring Luna, Finding Shelter, Girl Friendship, Road Trips, The Princess Mechanic is strong in this one
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-24
Updated: 2016-10-24
Packaged: 2018-08-24 08:30:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,900
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8365174
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pepperish/pseuds/Pepperish
Summary: Raven had stared at her, brows furrowed, “that was not what I meant when I told you to discover yourself.”“I know,” she smiles, “maybe I’m just really bad at listening.”“If this dude so much as looks at you wrong, I’m cutting his junk off. Tell him that. And keep me posted.”“I will, yeah.”Clarke finds Bellamy in a facebook group offering a ride for half the gas from Houston to Arkadia. This is not what Raven had in mind in the least, but maybe it's exactly what Clarke needs.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I have no excuses for this. I love roadtrips and Bellarke, hence, this happened. I really feel their dynamic here, so I hope y'all like it as well!
> 
> Also, I want to say a huge thank you for Lana (@marauders-groupie) for taking some time to read it, help me edit it and give me much needed validation regarding this fic. (If you hadn't yet, go check her stuff, she's one of the absolute best writers in this fandom, lbr)

Clarke lets her eyes close, every nerve in her body tingling with alcohol and the deep beats of the song.

“Oi, don’t sleep on me, Griffin.”

“Not sleepy, Reyes.”

“Yeah, I’ve heard that one too many times. I know better now.”

 She ducks her head to hide her laugh and shoves Raven lightly.

“You alright there?”

“Sort of. I think I might be getting there.” Clarke agrees, tries to smile even if her muscles don’t seem to recall how to pull it off. Raven just quirks one eyebrow and keeps a steady gaze over her. She can see when the usually feral dark brown eyes soften and feels her chest tighten.

“That’s good.” Raven’s legs are swinging as free over the ledge of the fire escape they’re currently sitting at, for once free of the pain supporting her brings. “Ready to go back yet?”

“Not really,” Clarke looks at the Houston city lights blinking ahead, bright and stark against the black of the night, and thinks about the campus of her university, her life, her empty apartment – she might have come here for Raven, but staying? Staying the weekend was for Clarke herself. She lets the dull thumping blaring from the nightclub behind them numb her thoughts. “I still don’t feel like myself yet. It’s like I’ve lost something and now I can’t recognize myself.”

 The faraway look about Raven tells Clarke she’s thinking about Finn.

 Another train wreck – meeting a guy, falling in love, finding out he has a fiancée. Breaking up with a guy, befriending the girl, watching him commit suicide. It broke Clarke’s heart, but it was different for Raven.

 That day Raven thought she lost the only family she ever had, only to find herself a sister.

 Funny, the way the world seems to work through miracles and tragedies.

“Maybe you don’t need to recognize your old self. Maybe it’s time to build a new one.”

“I don’t know”, Clarke sighs, exasperated, “I don’t think I’d know where to start.”

“Wherever you want, babe,” She smirks, trademark Raven Reyes confidence oozing out of her. She places a hand over Clarke’s, warm and reassuring, “You have all the time in the world to find out. And I’ll be there every step of the way.”

 

 

 Clarke finds him in a facebook group for rides.

 For all he seems nice enough in his profile, there’s still a part of her repeating _I’ve finally lost my mind_ , like a mantra. She all but ignores it entirely. His page had few pictures, all of him with messy black curls and thick-rimmed glasses, most featuring a petite, gorgeous girl with the same last name, besides lots of posts ranting about Donald Trump’s candidature and white washing and/or historical inaccuracies in movies.

 Raven had stared at her, brows furrowed, “that was _not_ what I meant when I told you to discover yourself.”

“I know,” she smiles, “maybe I’m just really bad at listening.”

“If this dude so much as looks at you wrong, I’m cutting his junk off. Tell him that. And keep me posted.”

“I will, yeah.”

It’s still weird when she finds his peeling blue pick-up truck waiting for her on the parking lot of Chipotle. He’s leaned against the door, arms crossed over his chest and a scowl etched on his face. His decidedly unfriendly demeanor isn’t nearly enough to hide how hot he actually is.

“Hey there,” Clarke herself isn’t the friendliest of people, but she thinks, later on, when she tells this to someone, it’ll be safe to say she tried. She approaches him with a small smile gracing her lips and a pink duffel bag stuffed under her arm and the guy – Bellamy – barely minds giving her a once-over before scoffing and getting into his truck.

 She stares at him, confused, while Bellamy stares resolutely ahead.

“Are you getting in or what? Want me to put a red carpet for you?”

 Anger bubbles under her skin. Clarke’s never been one to back down from a challenge.

 She hops onto the passenger seat and the metal screeches as she shuts the door open a bit more forcefully than necessary.

“No, not a red carpet. Common courtesy, though, might have been nice.”

“Oh, princess,” the boy sneers, “you chose the wrong carpool if you’re expecting niceties.”

“First of all, my name’s not princess, it’s Clarke,” if Bellamy is surprised with the sudden fierceness in her voice and eyes, he shows nothing for it, “Second, sorry if I don’t expect someone _offering rides_ in a facebook group to be dead set on being an asshole to the one person to actually accept it.”

 He glances at her out of the corner of his eyes and Clarke notices he’s not wearing the glasses.

 Good thing too, she doesn’t think she could be strict enough with the jackass if he was hot _and_ wearing nerdy glasses. A girl has her limits.

“Well, keep to your half of the car and pay for your half of the gas and we won’t have a problem.”

 They lapse into silence. Promising, really, Clarke can already see the two days filled with nothing but sulky silences ahead of her.

“Only if I get control of the radio,” she declares after a while.

“The radio doesn’t work.”

“I’ve got my phone, thanks.” Clarke shrugs and start going through her Spotify account.

“No way in hell, princess.”

“Eyes on the road, Blake.”

 The muscle in his clenched jaw ticks and she takes immense satisfaction in getting under his skin. _That’ll teach you, fucking prick_.

 Clarke can hear him muttering under his breath, not particularly flattering things either, but it only makes her grin grow wider.

 Still, she notices the way his shoulders release some of the tension when the first notes of _Car Radio_ reverberate in the truck to the best of her phone’s tiny speakers. This time, Clarke feels like her grin is worth hiding.

 

 

 “Clarke?” The sleepy voice pulled her back to reality and she looked down to the girl in her arms with a slight smile.

“Hey there,” Her chest was always filled with something warm when she saw Lexa like this, soft, young, close enough to be at Clarke’s fingertips. She brushed a kiss against the other girl’s lips. “I thought you’d sleep in today.”

“No,” Lexa sighed and the softness in her eyes disappeared behind her eyelids, “I have to go to work today.”

“Really?” Clarke whined, snaking her arms around her waist. “But it’s Saturday.”

“I know, love, I’m sorry. Things have been hectic in the office.”

 Clarke was tempted to ask if one of the other juniors couldn’t cover for Lexa, but she knew it’d be pointless.

“Why, oh why did I have to go and fall for the biggest overachiever in the entire planet?”

 Lexa laughed against her cheek, warm breath fanning over Clarke’s face.

“Because you took one look at us and saw what sexy couple we’d make.” She pressed a kiss against the corner of the blond girl’s lips and got up. “I’ll be back in time to take you out to dinner.”

“Well, I suppose I have an art project to finish as well.” Clarke openly admired her girlfriend as she got out of the bed, all naked skin and no self-consciousness.

“Your finals for your major over already?”

“No, there’s still a chemistry test, but that’s literally the last thing I want to do today.”

“Ok, then. I wanna see that painting of yours when I get back.”

“Go away before I find a creative way to keep you in bed, Lexa.”

 

 

  They stop to fill the tank for the trip and eat at a dingy diner about three hours later and Clarke relishes in the break from the stiff air in the car.

 Even with the music, silence hangs heavy between her and Bellamy and she wonders if the bickering would have been better.

“Do you even eat anything that they have here?” he asks, sardonic smirk in place.

“What?” Clarke raises her eyes from the small menu to glare right back at him. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I’m asking if you’re one of those rich girls who don’t eat carbs, gluten, lactose or anything over a hundred and fifteen calories,” he says and it’s written all over his face that he’s having fun with her obvious indignant expression. “I don’t pretend to understand people with money, honestly.”

“Is that your problem with me? That you think I’m rich?”

“Aren’t you?”

“Hmm, is it any of your business?” When he drops his cocky smirk, Clarke’s the one to smile, saccharine-sweet, “didn’t think so.”

“Whatever.”

 She goes back to the menu, sweet victory singing in her veins.

 When the waitress come over, Bellamy order eggs and sausages and Clarke asks for waffles with strawberries mostly out of spite.

“Your sister goes to ARK U?” He seems puzzled that she somehow know that and Clarke rolls her eyes, “I saw her with the blue sweater in one of your pictures, genius.”

“Oh, right,” for the first time he looks chastised in the slightest, “yeah, she’s majoring in PE.”

“What about you?”

“Not everyone has the money to pay for two college tuitions, princess,” the answer comes sharper than Clarke expected.

“Sorry, rich girl knee-jerk.”

 Bellamy takes a moment to consider her, dark eyes boring into hers like he’s reading her and deciding if she’s worthy or not.

 After a moment in suspension, he says:

“So you _are_ a rich girl.”

“I _was_ a rich girl. Not anymore.” His eyes are still intent on her, “Is that any better?”

“So if I was to kidnap you, there’d be nothing in it for me?”

“Nah,” she shakes her head, regretfully, “no one would pay the ransom, sorry. But my friend, Raven, told me to tell you she’d cut your balls off if you hurt me.”

“Huh, she seems nice.”

 Clarke actually laughs, the sound surprising the both of them. Bellamy looks about to say sorry, as if being a very obnoxious sort of nice was never his intention.

 They’re saved from the awkward moment because the waitress stops beside them and plops their food very unceremoniously on the table. She’s a tall woman, with a grease-stained yellow dress covered with an apron sized for maybe an eight-year old and Clarke thinks her eyes are devoid of all life and emotion as anyone’s would be, if they had to spend all day in the Dingy-Diner.

 Clarke likes her nonetheless, she takes to eating her waffles like it’s a Very Important Business and Bellamy goes back to his surly self, eating his food and drinking coffee with absurd amounts of sugar.

 She can hold herself back for all of five minutes, just until she sees him take a gulp of the liquid, make a face and reach for yet _another_ pack of sugar.

“Are you _trying_ to get diabetes or what?”

 

 

“I’m sorry,” Raven said, quiet but earnest, “I know you wanted us to get along, but.”

“It’s alright, Rae,” she didn’t smile, couldn’t really, not when she was so tired, “I know you tried.”

 Raven winced because, yeah, maybe she could’ve tried a little harder. She hated seeing Clarke look so deflated.

“We’ll hang out later this week, right?”

“I don’t know, we’re thinking about going on a trip. I’ll let you know.”

 Raven suppressed an annoyed huff, but didn’t say anything.

 Luna appeared beside them and placed a hand over Clarke’s shoulder.

“That could’ve been better, right?” Her face was as serene as ever and Clarke sighed.

“That’s one way of putting it.” They all smiled, a little wary, a little sharp.

“We’ll have other chances.” Luna said. “Don’t worry about it.”

“She’s your cousin, Luna, if you don’t like her by now, I don’t think you’ll change your mind,” Raven grounded, eyebrow arched.

 Luna laughed, softly, “I’m not her biggest fan as a cousin, but I can learn to like her as Clarke’s girlfriend.” When Raven kept her expression skeptical, Luna shoved her lightly, “maybe you can do it too.”

 She didn’t argue, but didn’t look convinced either.

 Clarke smiled at their antics and they said their goodbyes.

 When she came back to her room, where Lexa was changing into her camisole, she halted at the door and just observed her.

 Lexa completed the task in short, perfunctory and efficient moves and turned to Clarke, tension still radiating off her from her taut shoulders and blank face.

“Your friends don’t like me much, do they?”

“You don’t seem to particularly care about them either,” Clarke answered, straight-faced as well.

“Yes, I can’t really deny that.” Lexa sighed and her shoulders slumped. She took a couple tentative steps towards Clarke. “This is… Hard for me. I’m used to keeping my distance, my way of caring for people can come off as standoffish to some, I guess. Raven’s difficult and Luna is – well, Luna is family in a weird sense.” She shook her head, “I don’t feel like I can win this.”

“Lexa, this isn’t about winning,” Clarke said, dropping the façade. “You don’t have to keep your guard up all the time.”

“Yeah, I’m still working on how to get around that.” Lexa stared right into Clarke’s eyes, green eyes heavy, “I hope you know it doesn’t mean that I don’t care about you.”

“I know that,” Clarke agrees and steps into the other girl’s personal space, brushing her lips over hers, “It will get easier, you’ll see.”

 Lexa smiles a little, “This right here is easy enough.”

 

 

 It’s another six hours on the road before they have to stop again.

 This time it’s a flat tire that forces them to pull over to the side of the road.

“Fucking great,” Bellamy mutters, pressing the heels of his hands against his eyes, “just peachy.”

“What, you _do_ have a step, right?”

“Of course I do!” He removes his hands in order to glare at her. His eyes are a bit red and he looks tired. Clarke sighs.

“Then stop acting like a baby,” she jumps off the truck and goes to the trunk, “gimme the keys.”

 Bellamy comes after her, looking torn between disbelieving and amused.

“You trying to tell me you’re gonna change my tire?”

“I’m not trying to tell you anything. I’d already be changing the goddamn tire if you moved faster,” she crosses her arms over her chest and doesn’t miss the way his eyes follows her movement before he snaps his focus back to her face. Clarke smirks. “Well? Don’t tell me you’re the alpha-male type who refuses to have a woman help him.”

“I’m not,” he glares at her and opens the truck, going for the tire at the same time she reached for the tool box, “I’m just not sure if you can really change a tire.”

“Sexism is below even you, jackass.”

“Oh, this isn’t sexism. Women can kick ass at cars. This is – reversed elitism, at best. Rich people can’t change their own tires.” He finishes off looking very proud of himself, or maybe he’s just joking, Clarke doesn’t think she – or even him, to be honest – can tell the difference.

“Well, as I’ve told you, I’m a _former_ rich girl. Now that I’m poor, I can – and will – change your tire. Wait and see.”

 She does quick work of it, too. Clarke almost laughs to herself, thinking Raven would be pleased. Bellamy hands her all the things she needs before she can even ask for them and it’s a little weird, how seamlessly it all goes.

“I must admit to being impressed,” They’re finished. Bellamy has a smile tugging at the corner of his lips and he’s leaned against the door of his ratty old car, much like he was in the morning when she first laid eyes on him. His face, however, is so very different than before, eyes glinting and brows smooth, making Clarke feel a pull in her gut she hadn’t felt in a long while.

 It takes her a moment to realize it’s attraction.

 Clarke freezes in place like a deer caught in headlights.

“Are you ok?” he asks, reaching to touch her arm and Clarke forces herself to look composed.

“Yeah, I’m fine.”

“You scared me for a minute there, princess. I thought all this hard work was catching up to you,” despite his jokes, he’s still looking at her a bit worriedly. It makes her restless.

“Sorry about it. I think I’m just tired of the trip.”

“Right, as if I wasn’t driving the whole way,” he’s quick to snark back and it feels safer, somehow, like Clarke’s back to familiar territory even if they met – and quite disliked each other – not even a full day back.

“Hey, it’s not like I didn’t _offer_!”

“I don’t let strangers drive my car,” Bellamy looks somewhere between offended and horrified, “she’s sensitive.”

 Laughter bubbles out of her again, but neither of them pause this time. Bellamy ducks his head and chuckles to himself. The lamp posts are really bad lighting for anyone, but Clarke can see all the freckles that dot Bellamy’s face when they get back to the car and he still looks beautiful.

 She squashes the pull in her gut again, but it insists on coming back time and time again.

 Bellamy drives for almost another hour until they find an inn. It’s a shabby old thing that looks vaguely like it might house a psychopath who will try to kill them overnight, but they have beds and showers, and that’s all it takes to convince her. In a car with a virtual stranger isn’t the place to set the bar too high, Clarke thinks.

“Will you make yet _another_ rich-people joke?” She asks Bellamy when he’s parking and his eyes twinkle.

“Probably, yeah. I’m not tired of those yet. I’m also not completely convinced you’re not rich.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, you still look rich.”

“Do not!” All Bellamy does is raise an eyebrow and look at her sarcastically. Clarke huffs and shoves two strands of golden hair behind her ears. “Ok, maybe a little. You know, residually. But I can change _car tires_ , Bellamy, you said it yourself that rich people don’t do that.”

“I’m like fifty percent convinced.” He seems to consider, “You ate waffles and changed a tire, but you have a brand new iPhone and look – well, you look like you do.”

 She glares at him harder.

“Ok, what would take to convince you a hundred percent?”

 He takes his eyes off her to assess the inn.

“If you can truly sleep here, I can maybe work up to seventy five.”

 Clarke gives him a firm nod.

“Let’s do this.”

 

 

 Clarke got up and went into the kitchen, trying her damnest not to stomp like a spoiled child. She filled a cup with water and counted mentally to ten, but only had the time to make it to seven before someone else entered the room.

“Clarke,” Abby sounded at the same time tired and exasperated. Clarke knew exactly what followed, it was always the same script, like a broken record, “this was rude. Come back to the table.”

“Well, you left them behind too, so.” She knew it was immature, but Clarke wasn’t really ready to go back there. It was hard enough when her mother tried to hammer her into dropping her art minor to focus on her medicine studies, but she could not take her mother and Lexa in a dinner full of people looking at her like she was somehow wasting her potential.

 She hadn’t even told them she was thinking about dropping med school yet.

 That was a conversation Clarke was not eager to have.

 She took a big gulp from her cup and turned to face Abby.

“I’m sorry, mom.”

“We just want the best for you, honey.”

“I know, but have you ever considered that maybe I know what makes me happy better than you do?”

“I’m not going to argue that,” Abby conceded, putting her hands up in sign of desistance, “but talk to your girlfriend if you don’t want to talk to me. She has a good head on her shoulders.”

 Clarke rolled her eyes and scoffed, but went back with her mother to the table, smiled gracefully and made a generic excuse for her absence so the dinner resumed its course.

 When she and Lexa left the house and the crisp cold air of November was making her cheeks red, she turned to Lexa:

“Do you really think I’m _wasting my potential_ if I choose to do what makes me happy instead of what makes more money?”

“Clarke,” Lexa said, much the same way her mother called her name earlier, almost tiredly, “Your art is amazing, it’s a great hobby! But you can be so much _more_ than that.”

“You do, don’t you? God!” Clarke shook her head, fighting the pinching behind her eyes, “I don’t even –”

“Look, if you want to keep the minor, go ahead, just don’t lose sight –”

“I think I’m going to drop out of med school.”

“What?”

“You heard me.”

“I don’t understand you.”

“That’s because you haven’t been _listening_!” Clarke finally lost her patient and whirled around to glare at the other girl.

“You’re so good at it, you can save lives.”

“Yeah, I can do that, and make a lot of money until I’m sucked into politics and power games just like my mother did, but you know what? I’ll be miserable.”

“That’s not who you are, Clarke.”

“No, this is exactly who I’ve always been. It might not be what you were imagining of me, though.” Lexa’s face is smooth and stony. For some reason, it makes Clarke’s blood pump, furious in her veins. “Let’s go home. I’m tired and it’s cold, we can talk about this some other time.”

 Lexa nods, once, and goes with her, but neither reach for the other until they’re in bed, with all the lights out.

 

 

 Bellamy flips the switch before they enter the room and one single, yellow and dusty light bulb comes to life in the ceiling.

“Cozy,” he comments, dry. The room is tiny, practically a shoebox, with no furniture other than two single beds sitting on opposite walls. They’re covered in yellow sheets that might have been white once upon a time, and can’t be separated by more than three short steps from each other.

“You were expecting they would have only one bed, weren’t you?” Clarke says, cheeky, “Like some trashy romcom plot.”

 He seizes her with an unimpressed look.

“I’m a man, I don’t watch romantic comedies.”

“I bet you even have an all-time favorite.” She provokes.

“Pretty Woman is the absolute best.” He replies, immediately.

“Hmm, I’m more of a My Fair Lady kind of girl.”

“Hipster,” he accuses her.

“It’s a fucking _classic_ , Bellamy!” Clarke scolds him, no real bite in her tone. She drops her duffel at the feet of one bed and finds her nightshirt and shorts. “You mind if I shower first?”

“Knock yourself out,” he says, absentmindedly, searching for something in his own backpack.

 Clarke pauses by the door and just let herself look at him for a few moments.

“What?” He spins to look back at her, curiosity making him frown a bit. “Is this when you tell me you’re in fact a maniac and faked needing a ride to kill me? I forewarn you my sister is going to track you down and kick your ass, if you do.”

  Clarke shakes her head and laughs a little breathless.

“Not yet,” she seems to weight her words for a second before adding: “You know what? I don’t know why you try so hard to be an asshole.”

“Are you telling me you like me, princess?” He’s quick on his feet as ever, waggling his eyebrows ridiculously, but Clarke can see the tips of his ears turning pink. She hides her smile.

“Over my dead body, Blake.”

“Let’s hope not. If an _actual_ serial killer breaks in, I’ll have to try and defend you and I might get hurt. I’d rather not.”

“Good to know chivalry isn’t dead.”

 She’s closing the door, but can still hear him say, “I thought chivalry was just another name for benevolent sexism.”

 Clarke’s still chuckling after she undressed and turned the shower on, just to have ice-cold water hit her in the face.

 

 

“Hey, what’s the matter?” Raven opened the door in a hurry and pulled Clarke to a hug before she had time to form a coherent sentence. “Shhh, it’s alright, babe.”

 Clarke let Raven tug her inside and place her on the couch. They sat together like that – Clarke’s forehead resting on Raven’s collarbone – for a long time, in silence, as tears streamed down her cheeks.

“I thought –” She tried to explain, but the lump in her throat made it hard to put it into words.

“You don’t have to say anything right now, Clarke. I’m here with you.”

“Thanks, Rae.” Her voice was so small it almost got lost in the immense darkness of the tiny living room, but Raven heard it.

 They slept together on the couch, uncomfortable as anything, but with limbs messily thrown together and Raven’s heart beating against Clarke’s hand when she finally stopped crying.

 In the morning, Clarke made breakfast with whatever remnants of food Raven had in the fridge, since the awful angles made the other girl’s bum leg hurt like a bitch and they sat on the couch and tried again.

“You think you can tell me what’s going on now?”

 The blonde girl took a deep breath.

“Lexa’s leaving.”

 Raven almost choked on her toast.

“What the hell?”

“Yeah, that was my reaction as well,” Clarke laughed humorlessly. “Got accepted into an internship in Paris.”

“She didn’t tell you she was applying for it?” Raven asked, clearly rhetorical, “I’m going to kill –”

“Raven, no,” She said, quiet, so brokenly that it made Raven stop midsentence.

“When does she leave?”

 Clarke’s eyes teared again and she blinked, annoyed.

“On Friday,” her voice was surprisingly clear, though.

 Raven fumed silently, cracking her knuckles repeatedly, while Clarke settled for staring at the ceiling.

“Should I have seen it coming?”

“Seen it coming? What the fuck, Clarke, of course not! No one would expect their girlfriends to leave them behind like that,” She regrets the words the same instant they’re out, but Clarke doesn’t look offended. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to say that.”

“No, you did.” The blonde shifted her head to look at her, “this is not a bad thing. At least I know someone tells me like it is.”

“I’m still sorry. About everything.”

“No chance you’re ever going to like her now, huh?”

“Not a snowball’s chance in hell.”

 Raven dragged herself on the couch until she could put Clarke’s head on her shoulders.

“Can you please not tell my mom?”

“Of course not,” Raven agreed, immediately, “still not talking to her?”

“Is she still cutting me off because I dropped med school?”

“Fair point.”

“How did my life became such a disaster?” She laughed, but it was a watery laugh, made of broken heart and hopelessness and Raven hates the sound, it grates her teeth. “Is it me?”

“Oi, no!” Raven sat straight and cupped Clarke’s cheeks until she looked at her. “This isn’t on you, this is on them. They’re being assholes. I love Abby and I owe a lot to her, but she’s not being a good mother right now. And Lexa – Lexa can fucking rot in hell for all I care.”

 Clarke managed a weak nod and a sigh.

“Do you hear what I’m saying?” The girl pressed on, “I’m serious, Clarke. You stood with me when literally no one else would, gave me a family. You’re a fucking great person who doesn’t deserve this shit. If that’s what the world has to offer, fuck that, you’re too good for the world anyway.”

“Thanks, Rae.” She buried herself in Raven’s arms again.

“Don’t thank me, I’m always here.”

 

 

“What are you studying?”

 Clarke hears Bellamy asking into the darkness and considers not answering for a moment, pretending to be asleep or something.

“I know you’re awake, princess, c’mon.”

 She cleans her throat.

“Arts.”

 It’s irrational, Clarke knows, to be so scared of saying that out loud. It’s what she wants – it’s what she always wanted – and she seemed to have no problems with it when she was shouting it into Abby’s and Lexa’s and whoever else’s face when she decided to drop med school.

 But it all went wrong afterwards and Clarke still has a hard time separating things.

“It fits you,” is the only thing Bellamy offers. She looks at his direction (or at least what she thinks is his direction, she can’t see him, but in a room this small, she’s supposing he’s on his bed) inquisitively. “You have Starry Night painted on your sneakers, Clarke, it doesn’t take a genius to figure it out.”

 She doesn’t think she has a good enough answer to that, so instead she swallows and forces herself to steer the conversation elsewhere.

“What would you have studied if you went to college?”

“Fuck if I know,” he huffs, but she’s too versed in this make-believe nonchalance to fall for it.

“Bullshit.”

 It’s Bellamy’s turn to stay quiet.

 When Clarke’s beginning to believe he got pissed at her and wasn’t going to answer at all he says:

“Ok, it’s bullshit.” His voice sounds open like she never heard. “History. Ancient civilizations, probably.”

“It’s not too late, you know. You don’t have to sound so resigned about it.”

 This time, Bellamy does laugh.

“People like me don’t go to college, princess.”

“Excuse me, but isn’t your sister in college _right now_?”

“Yeah, because I’m doing my damn best for her to have a different life than me.”

“Is that why you hate rich people?” Bellamy huffs and Clarke presses her unrelenting smile against the thin pillow.

“Nah, rich people are just assholes.”

“Oh, I see, so you respond in kind.”

“Shut up,” he’s laughing as well.

“For what’s worth, I think you still have a shot.”

“What are you talking about now?” She can practically hear Bellamy’s rolling his eyes dramatically, but she doesn’t give in to the mockery. For once, this sounds Very Important.

“To do what you want. You’re obviously clever and your sister’s going to graduate eventually.”

 His sigh is all too real.

“Another rich girl knee-jerk?”

“No, not really.” She rolls over her back and stare at the ceiling. With the lights off and the curtains drawn, there’s only the slightest luminosity filtering from the outside, the room is practically pitch-black. “What do you do?”

“I work as a security for a museum and bartend in a club in the weekends now,” Clarke can hear him shifting by the rustle of the sheets. She wonders if he moved so he’s facing her direction, like she’s facing – presumably – his. “I’ve had so many jobs before, though. Worked in construction for a while, a bookstore, anything, really, as long as it allowed me to save some money.”

“Your sister is lucky.”

 He snorts derisively.

“Blakes aren’t _lucky_ , princess. It’s not in our genes.”

“You can’t convince me otherwise, _Blake_.”

“What about you?”

 Clarke snuggled in the thin cotton-sheets, hyperaware.

“What do you want to know?”

“How did you go from rich to poor?”

“Oh, that. Great story, actually, quite thrilling,” her voice is dripping sarcasm, scathing in a way she usually isn’t, but Bellamy doesn’t seem to care. “My mother and I had a strained relationship since my father died, he was always the one thing keeping the family together, you know? It was already fucked up from the moment she – they – decided not to tell me he was sick. He died and I was – furious, I guess. We tried for a while after that, but then I decided that being happy with what I do was more important than making her happy with what I do, so I dropped out of med school to major in art and she cut me off.”

“Are you fucking serious?”

“Hey, I know it’s no sob story but –”

“That’s bullshit,” he seems so outraged on her behalf Clarke has the insane urge to get up and move the cocoon she made for herself to his bed, “sorry to say that, but your mom? She’s a jerk. What the fuck. How can you punish your kid for deciding what’s best for her?”

“She thinks I’m wasting my potential or whatever.” Clarke presses her eyes shut, “I think she thought I’d change my mind if she cut me off.”

“I know you for half a day and already know you wouldn’t change your mind, Clarke.”

“Well, there’s that. Maybe my mom is supremely unobservant.” Bellamy laughs, but it’s dry. “Thanks, though.”

“It’s nothing,” he replies gruffly. “Are you – do you get by ok?”

“Yeah, my dad left me some money and I had some savings, so I paid for college and use the rest when I need to. I work as a barista a couple days a week, it’s fine. No need to worry about me, really. I’m not rich, but I’m not starving either.”

“Good.”

 They just lay there, wordlessly, after that.

“You should try and get some sleep. We have a long day of driving tomorrow.”

“Are you going to let me drive?”

“Nope,” he pops the ‘p’ sound like some annoying fifteen-year old girl and Clarke honest to God giggles, “but I need you on your top game on our music tomorrow.”

“I knew it. You think I have a brilliant music taste,” she gloats.

“Tsc, it’s passable,” Clarke can hear the smile in his voice as well. “Better than my sister’s angry girl rock bands, that’s for sure.”

“Just so you know, I’m starting tomorrow with Taylor Swift.”

“Great, Style is my favorite.”

 They laugh again, softly, a sound so low it feels like they’re trying to hide it from the rest of the world, protect it from the whims of the universe outside.

“Good night, Clarke.”

“‘Night, Bellamy.”

 

 

 When Clarke opened her door at 3 a.m. on a Wednesday, it was to find Raven with the same look she had after her accident: like she’s made of sharp pain and bitter determination, like she’s moving on spite alone.

 It got her awake and alert instantly.

“What happened?”

“I’m going to Welcome,” she declares, fierce and vicious, as if daring Clarke to challenge her decision. Welcome’s a small town in Texas, in which is situated the trailer park Raven grew up in, before she got a full-ride scholarship at ARK U and moved to Arkadia.

“Ok, when do we leave?”

“Clarke, no, you don’t have to –”

“Shut up, Raven, there’s no way you’re going alone.” They glared at each other for a few moments until Raven made an angry sound and marched inside.

“Suit yourself, Griffin, but trust me when I say no one wants to go to that shithole.”

“I’m going where you’re going.”

 Raven paced and sulked for a while – her own way of dealing with vulnerability – while Clarke packed a duffel with stuff for a few days. When she got tired, she sat on the couch and sulked some more.

 It was almost an hour later when she spoke, softly and exhausted.

“My mom’s in jail.”

 Clarke merely nodded and came to sit beside her.

“We’re going to take care of it.”

“Seriously, Clarke, no longer than two days.”

“My dad left me this shoebox in Houston. We can stay there for the weekend, later. It might be nice.”

 Raven looks at her through dark lashes and slowly assents. She takes one of Clarke’s hands.

“Thank you.”

“I’ll always be here, Rae.”

 

 

 The following day goes over glaringly different from the first.

 Clarke hops in the truck, fingers smartly finding the Taylor Swift single to play and both her and Bellamy Blake sing along in loud voices as the wind carries their words away and it’s – nice.

 There’s a clear shift in their dynamic and Clarke wonders how a night where they didn’t even touch each other could change so much.

 For lunch, they stop in yet another Dingy-Diner, somehow even dingier than the first, and order hot dogs and fries because, apparently, _everything_ on the menu was either sausage or deep-fried.

 They eat on the bed of the truck, spring sun shining in their backs. Clarke’s wearing old aviators she found in the glove department and Bellamy’s laughing at her when she tries to open a ketchup package and ends up getting red sauce all over herself.

“Ok, you convinced me.”

“Of how awesome I am?” She asks while pulling her untamed hair into the messiest of buns. “Did I really have to _convince_ you of that?”

“Shut up,” he throws a french fry at her and it goes directly into her cleavage. She cocks an eyebrow. “Ok, sorry, that was not intentional,” he apologizes, but laughter’s still clear in his voice. “I meant you convinced me you’re not rich.”

“What was the final twenty five percent?”

“I’d never want to kiss a rich girl this badly,” Bellamy says, solemnly, like he didn’t just made her heart speed up until it threatened to escape her ribcage, “They just don’t have it.”

 Clarke puts the food aside and crawls until she’s all but sitting in his lap, knees straddling his hips.

“It’s been a long time since I’ve done this,” she wets her lips and watches as his gaze drops to her movement and stay focused in her mouth, “I’m sort of scared we won’t live up to the hype.”

“What?” Bellamy seems genuinely confused and she laughs, placing two fingers on his forehead to smooth the crease between his brows.

“Well, we built quite the tension here, didn’t we?” She really fucking hopes she isn’t alone in it, but seeing the way his eyes darken, she doesn’t think so. “I mean, what are the odds this is going to be so good as it _seems_ it’s going to be? It’s really improbable, actually –”

 Bellamy keeps her from babbling on forever by taking her mouth with his. The moment their lips touch, there’s no space for uncertainty or hesitance, it’s giving as good as you’re getting, the same way they do everything else. He swipes his tongue over her lips and Clarke actually moans, giving him the breach he needed to reach her own tongue. The kiss is glorious and all-consuming, Clarke’s not even aware when she moved her fingers to his hair, all she can do is relish in the sweet pressure of his mouth, the way his hands hold her by the waist.

 When they part, they’re both panting with eyes too bright and grins too big.

“Very disappointing,” Bellamy says, but his hands are pulling her closer and he looks like he could light up an entire city if he could beam any brighter. “Very disappointing indeed. In fact, I think we’re in desperate need to practice.”

“If we go down that path, there’s no way we’ll get to Arkadia before nightfall.”

“Arkadia will still be there.”

 He presses another kiss to her lips and Clarke can’t help but smile.

“I don’t even know if you live there or in Houston or what.”

“Arkadia,” he answers, mouth quickly moving to her jawline. “Used to live in Austin, moved when Octavia went to school.”

“Oh well, in that case.”

 They don’t make it to Arkadia until it’s far past midnight.

 

 Things fall into place after that.

 Not easily, because things never come easy for people like Clarke Griffin and Bellamy Blake, but they’re all the better for it. Because they chose to stay side by side and _remain_ side by side with every choice they made. To people like them, life only offers small shards of happiness and heavy doses of tragedy, but they make it ok. In fact, they make it so, so much better than just ok.

 Their lives entwine themselves slowly, piece by piece finding a home in the other. Clarke gets to meet Octavia and the rest of their friends – Jasper Jordan, a puppy-like chemistry major; Monty Green, a bisexual computer engineer that Clarke has actually talked to once or twice before and his boyfriend, Bellamy’s best friend, Nathan Miller, who Clarke haven’t yet figure out what he does for a living.

 Bellamy and Raven meet and get along like a house on fire. From the first glare, where she muttered ‘ _you hurt her, you answer to me_ ’ quietly but viciously under her breath, Bellamy was sold. Octavia and Raven get along so well they start dating and all these people who were once strangers, become a family.

 They’re all planning a weekend on the beach, deciding who’s going in which car, and Clarke says:

“Bellamy, Octavia, Raven and I are going together.” She dares anyone to complain. When everyone seems to accept it, she smiles a little, “weird things happen in road trips with Bell.”

 Bellamy leans over to whisper in the shell of her ear:

“Maybe this time I’ll let you drive.”

 Her face breaks into the biggest grin, “I thought she was too sensitive.”

“Nah, I think you’ll be fine.”

**Author's Note:**

> As always, kudos and comments are greatly appreciated and make for a happy fic-writer and - hopefully - more fics soon!
> 
> If I can ask one thing, though, is that no one hate on Lexa/Clexa here, please. I know it's not your OTP (probably), I know it sure ain't mine, but I still love the characters and think their relationship was important and beautiful, so. Yeah, there's that. Otherwise, feel free to ramble on!
> 
> (Also, if anyone's interested in fangirling with me on tumblr, I'm @pepperish!)


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